


Coulson's Red String of Fate

by redlionspride



Series: Red String of Fate Series [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Community: trope_bingo, Fate, First Kiss, Gen, Getting Together, M/M, Prompt Fill, Red String of Fate, Soulmates, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlionspride/pseuds/redlionspride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Someday you’ll see, my child. A red string tied to your finger. If that string is severed so is your soul mate.” Great Aunt Bertha was a bit crazy, little Phil was sure of it. She spoke about crazy things, like invisible red strings of fate, or soulmates, and ew, gross, love. </p><p>She never told him that it would take years and years before he actually meet the person who's red string of fate was tied with his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coulson's Red String of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt fill for Trope Bingo. This one for **Soul mates/Soul Bonding**. Hopefully it's not too badly done. I adore these boys too much and worry that I don't do them justice haha. 
> 
> Comments are encouragement and always welcome. Thank you!

Prompt: Soulmates

* * *

“Someday you’ll see, my child. A red string tied to your finger. If that string is severed so is your soul mate.” Great Aunt Bertha was a bit crazy, little Phil was sure of it. She spoke about crazy things, like invisible red strings of fate, or soulmates, and ew, gross, love. 

She told him about mythical things that weren’t so mythical, and of ghost stories, or fables, and legends. She told the best stories as well, but they always weirded him out when it became personal.

Phil was 17 the last time he had talked to his Great Aunt. She was in a resting home, relaxed on a ugly orange and floral patterned tweed couch that had seen better days. Her health was fading, he had been told, and it would do her (and him) a world of good for him to go visit her once more. So here he was, sitting like a good young man on a chair next to her and the couch, hearing her tell him again about his fate.

“I know, Auntie. Keep an eye out for my string.” He said in a dull tone. He knew better than to roll his eyes or huff or be, well, a teenager who didn’t care about these things. He did care, he’d just heard it so often.

She reached out and took his hand, holding it in a surprisingly tight vice grip for someone so old. “No, child. You want to roll your eyes, but Auntie knows. She knows these things. I saw when your string came alive. You were nine and the dead brown string around your finger brightened when your soul mate was born.”

Phil frowned at that, letting the old woman hold her hand. Well, that was kind of gross. His soul mate was nine years younger than he was? Is that how that worked? Was he really wondering if this was how it worked!? The old woman was crazy, they all knew that.

“Roll your eyes all you want, child.”

“I--I didn’t, Auntie, swear.”

“You did. In your head. I know you don’t believe me, but you will some day. If only you would open your eyes and look. Believe. You can’t see this tiny little string, wrapped around your pinky now because you don’t believe in it.”

Aunt Bertha stroked her hands over the back of his, tenderly, softly. “If I had one wish to give you, my most precious child, it would be to grant you the sight you so lack. You can see with your eyes, but you can’t see with your heart.” Her hand reached up at that point and patted his chest.

With a soft sigh, she leaned back into the couch, looking tired. “You’re my precious boy, Philip. The only one who stays to hear an old crone crow on about the impossible. When you were a child, I almost thought you would understand. You had such a mind for the fantastic, for the special. I would have given anything to help that grow more than I have.”

She gave him a weak smile at that, then a nod. “Go. You don’t have to entertain a dying old woman.”

“You’re not old, Auntie. And you’re not going to die any time soon. You’re too strong, too stubborn to do that.” He said with his most confident smile, which ended up a little bit watery anyhow.

She reached out to pat his knee and smile fondly. “Alright, my boy. I’ll stick around, a bit longer. Tell your mother thank you, for the banana bread. Come see me next weekend, if you're not too busy. After all, if you have a hot date, i don’t want to get in the way.”

He chuckled at that, sitting on the edge of the couch and smiling at her. “If I had a hot date she’d have to want to come see you too. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He stood, leaning over to kiss his crazy Great Aunt on the top of the head. “I love you Auntie. See you next weekend.

She leaned up to kiss his cheek and grace her thumb over his forehead in a pattern she always did before letting him go. “You be good, Philip. Grow up a good man. I know you will. I love you my boy.”

Great Aunt Bertha passed away three days later.

Phil always kicked himself for not coming in more, even though he wouldn’t have come in on a weekday anyhow. She was crazy, but he loved her.

~~~~~~~~~~

The day she passed away, a young Phil was laying across his bed, on his belly, feet up behind him and waving back and forth. His note book to his side, a pen in hand and writing in it. His left hand moved over his history book, doing homework for the night. Mom was in the kitchen cooking something that smelled amazing.

The clock read 4:24pm. In another few minutes a TV show he wanted to watch would be coming on. It would end just before dinner was finished, or so he hoped. If he hurried and got his assignment done, mom would let him watch it.

So he was hurrying to write, focusing on the book as his hand scribbled down notes. So focused that at first, he didn’t notice the little red string that was wrapped around his pinky, that wiggled and waved a bit, trailing off the edge of the bed and to nowhere.

He didn’t notice it at first, but as he started adding more notes to the page, from the corner of his eye he flicked the string away. Because it would get in the way.

Only it just flapped and waved and didn’t go anywhere.

When he moved to write something else down is when he really saw it. His eyes focused on it a moment. Strange. He reached to pluck it up but missed. It was around his pinky? Tied like a bow. Frowning he reached for it and missed yet again.

That had him sitting up, crossed legged over his bed, looking down at his hand. There was a string, about a half a foot long, hanging from his hand. He tried plucking at it again but his hand went through it. He tried untying it, but again, his hand went through it.

“What the heck...” He said, mildly startled by this strange phenomenon! He couldn’t get it off and if he moved his hand this way or that the string seemed shorter or longer, depending on angle. It faded off, like it went invisible! Even when his hand was still, it waggled some on it’s own.

He didn’t feel panic over it, but he did feel strange. His Auntie’s words of red string of fate coming to mind. Perhaps he needed to go and see her sooner then this weekend.

Phil had missed his TV show completely, and his homework didn’t get finished as he sat there staring at and poking the string tied to his finger. When his mother called him down to dinner he closed his books, went to wash up (wondering if water bothered the little string at all, watching it carefully flip here and there and never get wet), and then came downstairs to eat.

It was just him and his mom tonight, as his sister was off in college and his father was working late. As they ate, a phone call came in. About part way through the call he watched his mother gasp, her hand to her chest and tears starting to roll.

Great Aunt Bertha passed away about a hour ago. The call was from his Uncle, calling to let them know.

Phil forgot about the string for a bit, hugging his mom as she cried. She didn’t cry for long, repeating that she was a strong old gal, and it was her time, and she was out of pain now.

The Cancer had won out and everything was better for her now.

Or so Phil was told, over and over again.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Phil grew older he realized that the red string wasn’t the only thing he would see. Sometimes he would see a glint of something to catch his attention. Information would jump out at him at that point. Something that would be important. Something no one else had seen.

It worked for the smallest of things, like missing keys, or a dime on the ground. Shiny things, he thought, at first.

Of course they would glint. But when he was in boot camp he realized that the weak spots on the obstacle course, or the places to plant his feet would shine, and almost instantly he would know the proper place to grab, step or climb, making his runs on the course faster than most anyone else.

Or that time when he was flipping through a ton of paperwork to find this one key word in order to help a case for his fellow Grunt. Something that would prove he wasn’t there at the time of an alleged rape. Something he was being blamed for and wasn’t even there for. A glint of something caught his eye and he found it. His friend got off and the real criminal was found.

There was also the fact that after a while he started trusting his gut better, because it hadn’t failed him yet. There was actually, literally a tug at his gut, when a hard choice had to be made. Something that was important and needed almost a snap decision. A tug that if he followed it, he instantly and always made the right choice.

Other small things, when he was younger, kept popping up. He was sure he saw things, out of the corner of his eye. Things that shouldn’t be there. But as he aged, he stopped believing in mythological creatures and legends. Fables and what not. So those things slowly dropped away.

But he always believed in his gut instincts.

And he always remembered, deep down, that somewhere out there was someone just for him. The red string around his finger told him that much.

~~~~~~~~~~

When he took a shot to the gut while in the Rangers, he lay there bleeding, blood soaking his hand as he held himself together, waiting for help. His eyes focused on the fact that the red string around his finger had darkened to a brownish color and seemed longer than ever, waving out along the ground and tapering off into nothing. Brownish and fading, like his life was fading. He was dying, wasn't he?

It frightened him to see how dark the string was getting, how long it reached, and how taunt it had gotten, like it was reaching out for someone, anyone to grab. Perhaps trying to grab his Soul Mate to come and save him.

When Sergeant Murphy came to his rescue, he had almost convinced himself that that was what the string was going. Grabbing the man to come and care for him. Only it was still a dark but translucent color.

The color didn’t return to it for several days, but after his life was stabilizing, a bit more, it grew more and more red once again. When he was in the clear it was perfect, short and waving happily off his pinky yet again.

And again, no one could see it.

~~~~~~~~~~

Years later he watched as his string turned a translucent faded brown again. It tugged though, tightened around his pinky a bit more. Like it was grabbing on and pulling at him. But nothing was wrong with him. He sat there in his car, staring at the string, confused by it. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling, holding his breath a moment. An on coming heart attack maybe? But none of the signs were there. He felt fine.

It bothered him, because he didn’t feel ill at all. Going to medical proved nothing was wrong also. He had to fake it to get an appointment in the first place.

A week and a half later the color returned and everything went back to normal.

~~~~~~~~~~

Years later still, while working for SHIELD, he stood outside a dirty, dusty bar in Canada, taking in the sight of the place. It was dark, on the outside, beside a large sign that called it “The Head Quarters” and showed a image of a woman with four quarters over top her eyes and her nipples.

Phil found the name to be ironic and amusing.

The inside wasn’t any better. Beer on tap. Beer in bottles. Very little else. A old saw dust covered floor, scattered peanut shells as well. Creaking wood, dusty red Formica table tops and a scorched in places wooden bar top. The man behind the counter cleaning a dirty glass by wiping it off looked up as Phil, dressed in a simple dark blue suit and tie, came in.

Coming to the bar, Phil gave a friendly nod. There were two men at the bar, both blondes, though he knew his target almost instantly. He moved to stand in the center of the two, “Two beers. Draft.” He said lightly, pulling a nice crisp purple ten dollar bill form his wallet. Sitting it on the counter his eyes looked into the mirror before him. The blonde on his left stared at him with dark eyes. The blonde on his right ignored him.

When the beers came, he left one near the blond on the right, taking his own up and sipping it. “Not bad, I suppose. Not as good as home though, is it?” His eyes looked to the man he was targeting, before giving a nod to the beer. “On me.”

“Sorry. I don’t drink with strangers.” The blond said with a shrug, eyes looking up into the glass and watching Phil.

“Allow me to introduce myself then.” Phil started as he raised a hand up, but the man cut him off.

“Don’t bother. I know who you're with and what you want. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

Phil’s hand lowered, missing the fact that the red string was trying to loop it self around the man's wrist and hand. As he drew back, turning to lean his back on the bar and sip his drink. His mind so focused on everything else that he didn’t even bother looking.

He hadn't really bothered to look in some time.

After all. All this time and still not meeting your soul mate was a bit hard to handle.

“Just hear me out a moment. It’s better that way for everyone.” 

The blond did pay attention, and shortly after he was in SHIELD with Phil. After some time he became a fantastic asset to the group, and a good Agent that Phil came to trust.

Agent Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye joined their ranks as a perfect marksman, sniper and assassin. He worked closely with Phil.

~~~~~~~~~~

The closer Phil was to Barton the happier the little red string would be. Sometimes he would see it, though not as often. He’d see it wiggling, dancing, looking happy. Or he’d see it droopy and hanging sadly off his desk.

It took awhile to realize that it seemed the shortest and happiest when Barton was around. It got long and floppy and stayed still while the man was off on a opp with another Agent.

It was that moment that he started to believe in it again. That there was something... there. Between them.

When Barton returned he met with him for debriefing, but his mind was more focused on what the string did.

It waggled.

It waved.

It was brighter then he was used to seeing it.

When he got too close as he sat a cup of office coffee down before the man, he saw the string jump out, grabbing the man's hand and wrapping around it. Clint’s hand twitched but he seemed not to notice.

Phil was distracted by the string, and Clint himself the entire time they spoke. It was his worst and shortest debriefing yet. He dismissed Barton and watched as the string waggled, waved and then slowly simmered down, flopping there.

Phil’s heart ached a moment later.

He had never wished so hard in his life to talk to his Great Aunt Bertha before this.

He never said anything to Barton either, because how do you explain, without sounding crazy, a red string of fate, connecting two peoples souls together? How do you explain to a man who no doubt held no interest in him like that, that he’s his soul mate.

~~~~~~~~~~

The day he’d lost Clint on an opp was the day he learned why the string would sometimes turn brown. Why it would sometimes start to fade away.

They’d found Barton, four days later, tied to a pole. He was seated on the floor, legs stretched out on the hard concrete floor. He was stripped down to his tank top and boxers, both of which were dirty, soiled and bloody.

There were two dead men on the floor near him, both freshly bleeding from the head as SHIELD Agents put them down. Agents scattered the floor, combing it for anything that might be a problem, as Phil made his way right to Barton.

The moment his black leather loafers came into the man's sight, Barton started to chuckle, dry, dark and broken, but a chuckle. “Knew you’d fin’ me, boss.” He said, sounding just as dry and broken as the chuckle had.

Phil’s belly did a hard flop. 

The tone of the mans voice. 

The pale skin pock marked with burns and cuts. 

Track marks in his arm. 

There was a pool of blood to the side of him and his hands were tied tightly behind his back, purple from lack of circulation. Phil’s dying brown string around his fingers waved weakly towards Clint, but it didn’t look healthy.

He crouched before the man, hand reaching out to touch his face, carefully. His heart ached, seeing the man so battered and beaten. The Archer had been hurt, badly. Thus the reason his fate string was almost gone. 

Faded and just barely hanging on.

“Of course I found you. I’ll always come find you.” He said with a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He turned away to put in an order to someone over the comm, then shifted to kneel, ignoring the blood that ground into his pants leg. He pulled a knife out to cut the tie around the man's wrists.

“Killed three of them...” Clint started through a cough, his hands coming free and a gasp as the blood flow darted back into his hands, aching like a hundred angry bees stinging his hands under cold ice water. He sucked in a breath, coughed and finished. “while tied up.” His bloody smile was demented, but looked up at the man with some form of pride.

Phil smiled back to that, looking over the black and swollen eye, the bloody teeth (the missing tooth in the front said a lot), the split lip and burn marks. They’d really did a number on him.

“That’s my boy.” Phil teased, but something in the mans face seemed to grow in pride at that. Phil’s heart ached even more.

The string at his finger was still brown and faded but no where near as bad as it was earlier.

As they got Barton out of there and back to a proper medical facility, the color returned back to a fairly healthy red, though it hadn’t recovered to it’s original brightness.

~~~~~~~~~~

Phil stopped in to medical to find a nurse having what he would call a panic attack, rushing around and looking as if she were the worst person in the world. When she saw Phil she looked wide eyed and upset.

“Oh! Agent Coulson! I tried. I tried so hard. He just couldn't stay still! The Doctor even restrained him but when I went in to change his water he was gone. Everything was undone and he’s just missing!”

Phil moved to the room that Clint had been in. The IV tube tossed across the bed, a bed pan spilled on the other side of the room. The restraints hanging on the edge of the bed. Phil sighed, half tuning the nurse out, and glancing at his hand. The string was red, yes, and it was a little loose, but not wagging. The man was near but not close.

“Don’t worry about it. We shouldn’t cage a bird anyhow.” He told her, smiled and nodded back. “Go ahead and clean it up. I’ll discharge him myself.”

“But sir! The docto--”

“It’s fine. If he has a problem with it, take it up with Director Fury. Until then he’ll be under my watch.”

He ignored her protests and worry as he turned to go, walking to a elevator and catching a glint of light on a sign that simply showed a little bubble man walking up stairs. Ignoring the opening door of the elevator he moved to the stairs, stepped inside and glanced down, then up. Above him he caught another little glint of light, though there was no reason for it to shine like that.

By time he reached the roof he’d climbed four flights above where the elevator would have taken him. He moved up one more, seeing where the glint of light had been, and pushed the roof top access open.

The string was wiggling more, almost dancing.

“I’m not going back there.” Clint said, seated on the edge of the building, barefooted and staring out at the blue sky, watching a little cloud dance by.

“I wasn’t going to make you.” Phil’s voice was calm. That natural calm he gets when he talks to anyone, but it was warm as well. “Figured I’d find you up here.”

“They tied me down, Coulson.”

“You slugged a doctor and tried to make a break for it yesterday. Of course they tied you down. There are still things that need to be taken care of.”

“I hate hospitals, Coulson.” the archer said in the darkest grumpiest tone ever. Like a child, almost.

Phil came closer, realizing the man was still dressed in a hospital gown, the back tied but partly open. Bare ass rested on the hot concrete of the roof. He shook his head, smiling (and realizing a moment later he was staring). “I know you do.”

“I’m fine. Perfectly fine. I don’t need to be here.”

Phil glanced down to his hand, frowning. “You’re not one hundred percent yet, but... yes. I agree. You don’t need to be here. I’ve asked to have you discharged to me. So, can we scrape your bare ass off the ledge of the roof and come inside? Get dressed and go home.”

Clint blinked, then turned back and smiled at the comment. “Your home, sir?” He bounced a brow at that.

Phil hadn’t meant to. He was very good at schooling his features to seem unfazed by comments like that, but the relief he felt in finding the man, in seeing him alive and alright and talking to him? Well, if a bit of blush spiked across his face just now, he couldn’t help it.

“If you’d feel more comfortable recuperating at my apartment you may. I have the space.”

Clint moved, turning around to put his feet down, bare on the gravel of the roof. It didn’t seem to bother him much at all. Then again he had just been tortured a few days ago, so gravel underfoot can’t really be that bad. “Alright. You don’t have to twist my arm. I’ll come home with you.”

“To recuperate.” Phil repeated, as if he had to lay this law down for some reason.

“Yeah. That. Just...” He cut off, shaking his head.

“Yes?” Phil asked, moving forward to offer some help for the man to steady himself as he walked. Clint waved it away at first, but then took hold of his arm after the second step.

“Just, if you could? Take some time off and stay there with me? You need a break.” He said, his tone clearly stating that he just didn’t want to be alone.

Phil smiled at that, and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

~~~~~~~~~~

He indeed took some time off. They spent a good long week crashed out at Phil’s place. He brought home food to cook for the man as well as gave him the permission to mess with his DVR to find shows he wanted to watch. Thankfully they already had the same interests, so the records that Phil already had seemed to be enough for him.

Explaining the red string of fate to the man seemed a lot easier than he had thought it would be. Apparently he man had heard of such a thing before. Had heard it from a couple in the circus. The Strong man and the Snake Charmer were both connected, he said, by a Red String of Love, as they called it.

Phil explained that he thought it was attached to the two of them. He told him about his great Aunt, and how he started to see it the day she passed away. He explained that he knew every single moment that Clint had been hurt and just how badly it showed to him. Explained the colors and the movements of each incident. 

If asked he could recount every time it happened and what he was doing at the time. The heartache he felt each time. 

“So, you can see it too?” Phil asked, holding his hand up and looking at the tiny string wrapped around his pinky, as silk as a ribbon now, moving with a grace and happiness that he had never seen before. He had always thought that if he could find his soul mate they too would be able to see the string.

“See it? No. I have sharp eyes, but I can’t see it.” Clint said softly, smiling from the place on the couch where he rested. “But I know it’s there.”

Phil looked a little amazed at the man. “You know, but you can’t see it?” Clint hummed an affirmative to that. “How?”

“I believe.” He shrugged, wincing just a bit at the hard movement. Sitting up he pulled himself closer to the other man, reaching out to take his hand. “Red string or not, soul mate or not, I... ah, hoped there was something here. Just couldn’t bring myself to actually say anything.”

Phil looked amused, maybe a bit amazed too. Clint had wanted something to... happen? Really? He felt warm for the moment, not realizing just how much he was smiling right now. Clint looking at him with a raised brow. He blinked, then shook his head, chuckling. “And here I was forcing myself to ignore it. Like an--”

“Idiot? Yeah, I wasn’t much better.” He said with a charming smile and a shrug, looking sidelong at Phil. “So now what, boss?”

“Maybe you can start with calling me Phil?” He asked with a hopeful little helpless smile.

“Phil, huh? I don’t know...” he drawled, as if completely unsure of this and yet smiling like a rogue. “That’s getting rather personal.” 

“Clint...” Phil said, giving an exasperated look. 

“Oh... I rather like that.” he said with a charming grin, hand tightening around Phil’s hand. 

Phil could see the string, wiggling around their hands, tying them together and seeming happy. Complete. He could feel it tugging at their hands as Clint held his with both his own. Phil placed his free hand on top and wrapped it around the others wrist, pulling him forward a bit. 

“Good. Say it and I’ll kiss you.” And for one, he couldn’t believe he just said that. For another? His heart just stopped, he was fairly sure of that. Stopped or at least sped up to the point that he just couldn’t feel it beating anymore. That comment there left him really open and it worried him. 

At least it worried him until he heard, on a whisper... “ _Phil._ ” 

Pulling his hands again, Phil pulled Clint forward to kiss him, softly at first. Lips barely touching the others in a tender kiss. A first for both of them. It only took a half a second for Clint to return the kiss, a little harder then Phil had started. A little more pushing and wanting. 

They ended up making out, a little more dignified than a pair of teenagers, for some time, drawn up close to each other on the couch. The red string that connected the two of them was bright when Phil could see it. Wrapped around not only their pinkies and their hands or wrists, but the closer they got he could feel as well as see that it wrapped around each others bodies, keeping them tied together and close. The string went from his pinky to the others. 

Though Clint couldn’t see it, he believed it was there. That’s all that mattered to him. String or not, he would claim Phil as his own. 

On moments when he was alone or while Clint slept, he stared at their hands intertwined together, wrapped tight with a red string that no one but himself could see. 

He silently thanked his Great Aunt for the gift and for making him able to see such things. 

He thanked her for helping him be happy.


End file.
